The Masters' Chronicles 004- The Serpent's Tale
by Fainmaca
Summary: Long before he became a Witcher, Gedymin was a street-rat on the cobblestones of Oxenfurt. That was, until one day, when one of his schemes went awry, and put him on the path towards a completely new destiny. Based on characters and events from the first International edition of the Witcher School LARP in Poland.
1. Chapter 1

The rickety old wagon rattled forcefully as it trundled down the worn road. The two horses that pulled it, aged and filthy mares long past their prime, puffed and snorted as the wheels caught again and again on uneven cobblestones in the road. The wagon itself, little more than a box on wheels, with barred windows and a locked door on the back, bore the Redanian eagle on its side.

Inside sat four silent, sombre figures, their wrists shackled, their ankles bound. All four, three boys and a girl, bowed their heads, a fearful, anxious air hovering over them. The eldest of the boys was a scrawny lad just on the verge of his teens, his body just hitting the age where it began to sprout and change in ways that left his frame awkward and clumsy. A tangle of dark blonde hair, cut short with a knife in quick, imprecise strokes, adorned his crown, while empty eyes the colour of an overcast sky stared at the wooden boards that made the floor of the wagon.

The boy, Gedymin, glanced up at him companions, looking to each one in turn. The girl, Kera, was a little older than him. A mop of dirty blonde hair tumbled across her shoulders, while deep, black eyes stared at the shackles around her wrists with a quiet, simmering anger. Her teen years had already begun to manifest, certain parts of her body changing in ways that tightened the fit of her clothing and would draw the gaze of many a lad as she walked down the street of any town. Gedymin felt his heart pulse a little as he looked to her. The sight of the young woman always sent a rush of unfamiliar emotions racing through his veins, a fierce protectiveness, a deep longing, and a fiery desire. He turned his gaze to the other two occupants of the wagon.

Son and Ebbe, often mistaken for brothers, were by far the most closely attached of the group. Growing up homeless, the pair had known no family until they met one another, surviving as best as they could on the streets of Oxenfurt. The two small boys, with ten years to each of them, sported short, grimy black hair, and faces so similar that it gave the impression they could have been twins. Gedymin knew better.

The wagon lurched, coming to a sudden halt. The sounds of conversation could be heard through the barred window, too high in the wall for any of the children to look out of. To Gedymin's ear, it sounded as if a small mob waited outside, many voices conversing in low whispers and mutters that could be heard over the bustle of the city.

There was a loud scraping noise as a heavy figure stood up at the front of the wagon, before jumping down. Footsteps clattered across the cobbles, echoed by the jangle of loose chainmail, working their way round towards the door set in the back wall of the wagon. Keys clinked, then scraped their way into the lock of the door, before it was wrenched open. The guardsman who had thrown the youths into the wagon waited beyond, an impatient scowl on his face.

"C'mon. Out!" He grunted irritably, sparing not even a single breath for the wagon's occupants.

Slowly, fearfully, the quartet stood and shuffled their way out, the chains that bound them clinking heavily.

Outside, the daylight, even on this grim, overcast day, was painful to Gedymin's eyes. At least the storm had subsided, though the damp still hung in the air, sending a chill through the young lad's body. After a few seconds, his vision finally adjusted from the gloom of the wagon to the light outside, and he could take in his surroundings.

The wagon had come to a halt in the market square of Oxenfurt, the normally busy trading hub much more muted today. It seemed as though many of the stalls than normally invaded the square had been removed, creating a large, open area around the well at its centre where a fair-sized crowd had gathered. At the heart of the mob, next to the well, loomed a large timber frame. Beside it, waiting with a grim expression and folded arms, was the captain of the city guard. With a sinking feeling, Gedymin recognised the hastily erected construction. A gallows, with four nooses tied and ready for four young, guilty necks.

~o~0~o~

TWO DAYS EARLIER

Night weighed heavily over the city, a dark storm looming on the horizon. Gedymin shivered in his ragged cloak, little more than a scrap of canvas scavenged from a rotting skiff that had grounded itself under one of the city's bridges. He pulled the grimy fabric closer around himself, trying to banish some of the wind that whipped around him.

Next to him, Kera seemed similarly cold, although he knew that offering her his cloak would earn him a disdainful snort. Instead, the pair turned their attention to the wall before them, a tall affair surrounding one of the larger mansions of the city. Located in one of the higher regions of the city, the house overlooked most of the poorer districts from a place of privilege, above the much and stink of the less fortunate. Or so the owner thought.

"You're sure about this?" Gedymin asked.

"Aye." Kera whispered back. "Bran the stable boy told me that 'Arry the farrier 'eard Lyssa and Hulda, two o' Lady Gildemann's maids, sayin' that Eckleberg an' his family was outta town fer the next three days. Somethin' 'bout a sickly aunt of his wife, livin' out in Novigrad. They took their servants with 'em. The place is empty. Ripe for the harvest."

The girl grinned wolfishly in the darkness, her teeth shining under red lips. Gedymin, however, remained focused, anxious.

"This is a big score, but also a big risk." He said. "Last thief Eckleberg caught, he took his hands. 'Tis said that he has the captain of the guard in his pocket."

"They all do, one way or another." Kera shrugged. "Some with a fistful of gold, others with a few barrels of wine, and a couple others with girls from Madame Capricia's place."

The young girl shuddered. Over the years, especially now as she came of age, she'd continually run the risk of ending up in Capricia's establishment, one of the more well-known brothels in the region. Thankfully, she was good enough at surviving in the streets, and tough enough to fight for herself when needed, that she hadn't fallen victim to Capricia, or any of the other flesh-mongers who profited off the impoverished and desperate of Oxenfurt. Instead, she had risen to power in one of the town's larger collections of street-rats and beggar-boys, excelling in a world not normally suited to a girl. Now, she served as Gedymin's right hand, leading the gang as they picked at the underbelly of the city to survive.

The pair waited tensely in the bush that served as their hiding place, a decorative ornamentation not normally found in other areas of the city, but common up here, in amongst what the common folk referred to as 'The Gods' Terrace', the hilltop between the bridges of the Western Gate and the Academy. Presumably the owners of the houses that lined this street thought to give themselves further airs of luxury and prominence by decorating the roadside with as much greenery as they could fit there. And yet, Gedymin couldn't help but notice, underneath it all lurked the same cobblestones and roof-tiles and timber frames as the lowest dockhouse in the harbour.

A slight movement caught the young lad's eye. Up in the top of the wall, a small shape moved, scuttling along as carefully as he could. Ebbe. The small lad lifted an arm, a flash of light gleaming from the mirror held in his hand, reflecting what faint light came from the lanterns that dotted the street.

"That's the signal." Kera whispered, rising to her feet.

Gedymin's hand shot out, catching her by the wrist and pulling her back. The girl let out the beginning of a startled yelp, which he quickly silenced with a hand over her mouth, before pointing a thumb down the roadway. A torch swayed in the gloom as two shadowy shapes walked towards where the two young teens lurked. After a moment's silence, the clank of metal plates could be heard, heavy armour typical of the city guard. The two guardsmen conversed in low tones, talking about nothing at all, grumbling at having the night watch.

Gedymin and Kera froze in their hiding place, waiting for the two guards to pass by. The pair passed close enough to them to almost be in arm's reach, causing Gedymin's blood to run cold, but thankfully the guards were inattentive enough to simply pass them by, totally unaware of their presence. A few moments later, the street was silent again.

Gedymin waited a few seconds longer, just to be sure, then nodded to Kera. Together, the pair stood and hurried across the street, towards a small doorway set in the wall, a servants' entrance to the Eckleberg estate. They knocked twice, then once, then four times, and received a single knock in reply before, with a scrape of wood on stone, the door slid open, revealing the tense features of Son beyond. Without a word, Gedymin and his friends slipped inside, then closed the door behind themselves, the street outside returning to silence.


	2. Chapter 2

The garden of the manor was deathly silent, not even a rustle of shifting foliage as the high walls that bounded the elegant mansion's grounds effectively blocked the wind that swirled outside. As Gedymin slowly took his bearings, he paused for a moment to take in the building that stood before him.

The home of Hans Eckleberg, a merchant in name, but cut-throat in nature, was a truly ostentatious affair. Gargoyles lined the eaves in small regiments, while cherubs decorated window frames. Gilt glittered everywhere, from the marble vines that carved their way around broad pillars standing either side of the main doors, to the scales and claws of an enormous Dragon, carved out of some smooth black stone Gedymin couldn't recognise, sitting in the middle of a veritable jungle of flowers, shrubs and small trees. It was an utterly gaudy display, almost tastelessly so.

Even with the vast display before him, Gedymin remained unimpressed. Growing up in a noble family himself, the youth knew what real wealth looked like, and this wasn't it. This was a pretender, somebody desperate to have others think he was a cut above the common man. Real wealth didn't need showing off, didn't need extravagance and excess. Real money showed through one's power and position. He scoffed under his breath. Eckleberg may have been one of the richest men in Oxenfurt, but he would never rise to the level of the nobility, especially if he squandered all his coin on extravagance like this.

This didn't stop the others from marvelling at their surroundings. Even Kera, daughter to a merchant like Eckleberg, had never seen anything quite so fancy.

"Troll's stones..." She breathed. "You could live like a king, just by scrapin' the gold paint off'n the walls!"

"It'd be more work than it was worth, trust me." Gedymin dismissed. "Come on, let's get inside. That's where the real score is."

The quartet hustled through the empty garden, heading straight for the big, double doors that lay at the end of a long path. The heavy oak was covered in lavish brass fittings, but the lock itself was big, heavy iron. Gedymin had dealt with its like before, solid Dwarven handiwork. He reached down to his belt, where his pouch of 'toys' waited.

The young lad had spent the past six years collecting these 'toys', carefully hoarding them. A wide array of lockpicks, tools and twisted pieces of metal that was the envy of any thief in the city. Some said that Gedymin could slither his way past any lock in the nation, if he had a mind to. The youngster proudly allowed them to think that, although he personally knew of a few locks he had yet to best. He hoped this wouldn't be one of those.

He knelt next to the door, putting his eye to the lock for a moment, observing how the faint gloom of the night illuminated it, then drew three pieces of metal from his pouch. He slid them into the mechanism and, cautiously, listening to every scratch and click, slowly turned the lock until the heavy bolt slid back. With a satisfied grin, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

The young thieves slowly, cautiously, stepped into the house, moving softly in the darkness. Open-mouthed, they looked about in amazement at the interior.

If anything, it was even more sickeningly gaudy inside than out. Dark wooden panels coated the walls, with tapestries and paintings filling every spare inch. Niches had been set in the walls, where statues of ancient kings and queens glared down on the children with imperious scrutiny. A broad set of stairs led upwards, splitting in half mid-flight to head off in opposing directions. At this mid-point, a large statue of Melitele looked down towards the doors with kind, gentle eyes. A gold circlet rested on her brow, while her hand extended in a compassionate gesture, offering succour and forgiveness to any who might seek it.

The four youngsters certainly weren't seeking it. Instead, they split apart, spreading out to scour the mansion. Son and Ebbe, inseparable, headed left, Kera went right, while Gedymin took the stairs.

The young lad paused before the statue of Melitele, pensively glancing up at her. His mother had been an adherent, offering fresh blooms, wine and sweet honey whenever custom dictated it, praying at the setting of each sun, never taking the goddess' name in vain. Gedymin did not share in her fervour. He'd seen enough of the world now, tasted enough of its tragedy, to firmly doubt in the existence of some all-powerful goddess, or at least in any deity who was kind and generous. Even so, his cynicism and sceptical mindset notwithstanding, he still felt a twinge of worry as he stood before the statue's gaze. He almost felt as if she really was looking at him, judging him.

A surge of fire rose in his blood, a defiant urge that filled his belly. Irritation and anger pricked at his mind. Who was she to judge, to condemn? She hadn't lived his life, hadn't suffered like he had. And, if she was truly all-knowing and all-powerful, then she was actually to blame for everything that he had gone through.

A sudden clatter made him turn around, just in time to see Ebbe, excitement exuding from his features, emerge from one door, hastily stuffing a large silver candlestick into a sack. behind him, Son was filling his pockets with as many glimmering spoons as he could. Gedymin turned back from the pair, giving the statue a final glance.

"Fuck the gods." With a disgusted snarl, he resumed his ascent of the stairway.

On the upper floor, Gedymin found himself confronted with a series of heavy oaken doors. Following his instinct, the youngster headed for the centre door, assuming it would lead the largest bedroom, and therefore the one with the most valuable things to pocket.

To his surprise, the room beyond wasn't a bedroom, but rather a large study. Bookshelves lined the walls, hosting a wealth of large, heavy tomes. A large window was set into the far wall, underneath which sat a wide desk, carved from a dark wood. To the left on the doorway Gedymin stood in, another door lurked, almost lost among the bookshelves.

The youngster took a long moment to look around, appreciating the room. This, he knew, was where the real wealth was. Eckleberg no doubt sat in here and engineered many schemes and plots to create his empire. Were the youngster more politically motivated, he had no doubt he could have used much of the papers stored in this room to elevate himself to all kinds of positions. But that wasn't what he was here for.

One detail caught his eye. Mounted on the wall, beneath the stuffed head of a wolf, was a crossbow. For reasons that he couldn't fully explain, Gedymin was drawn to the weapon. He walked over, reaching up to it. With careful movements, he removed it from its mounting, and turned it over in his hands. It was excellently made, that much he could tell. His father had once employed a groundsman who kept a few weapons for hunting game, some crossbows among them. The young noble had learned his hunting skills from the toothless old man, spending many a day catching pheasant, grouse and hare on his family's estate. He'd learned the intricacies of crossbow maintenance during those happy months, before...

He shuddered, banishing the thought. Instead, he focused on the weapon again, appreciating its design. Another Dwarven creation, just like the locks that secured the mansion. The canny merchant must have had an ally in one of the non-humans, likely one of the many bankers that had a stranglehold on all the moneyhouses in Redania. A few bolts sat in a quiver underneath its mounting. Curious to see its mechanisms at work, Gedymin took one of the wooden shafts and loaded it into the weapon. The sharp iron tip of the bolt gleamed in the dim light of the study. To Gedymin's satisfaction and surprise, the weapon sat very comfortably in his grip. He lifted it, sighting along the length of the weapon.

"Find anything?"

The whispered question almost made Gedymin leap out of his skin. His grip tightened on the crossbow, but he managed to hold back from squeezing the trigger. He turned to see Kera in the doorway, looking at him curiously. She glanced down at the weapon he now held.

"That's a good look for you." She shrugged as she walked over to the desk.

As Gedymin stepped over next to her, Ebbe and Son joined them, clinking sacks slung over their shoulders. Kera began digging through the papers.

"Shipping manifests, prices of grain in Brugge, a letter to the Mayor of Boggevrieg... nothing of value to us here."

The young girl finished rifling through the papers, then turned her attention to the drawers underneath. She pulled one open, revealing a few quills and an inkwell, then pulled open another drawer and paused. A low whistle escaped from her lips.

"This is what we're here for!" She muttered excitedly.

Gemstones gleamed in the drawer, a mixture of purple, blue and star-like white. A small fortune unlike anything Gedymin or the others had seen. In their midst, a golden medallion with the symbol of a leaping salmon embossed upon it glinted brightly. Kera quickly snatched it all up, stowing the gems and the medallion in her pockets.

"Come on." She jerked her head towards the open door. "We'll have enough to fence off for the rest of the year with this haul. Let's get out of here."

The youngsters turned to leave, but a sudden creak froze them mid-step. Gedymin's heart topped as the little side door swung open, revealing a heavyset man clad in a long, white night-shirt. His hair was greyed, as was the short beard that covered his chubby features. Hans Eckleberg, Gedymin knew that it could be no-one else. A look of utter shock crossed his face as he spotted the four children before him.

"What in the hells-"

He never got any further. Gedymin felt instinct overcome him, the crossbow in his hands rising. Without a single thought, his finger closed on the trigger, loosing the bolt. There was a twang, then a meaty smack.

Eckleberg's expression grew pained, and he looked down to the bolt now protruding from his chest, a ring of blood rapidly expanding across the white of his night-shirt. He mouthed a couple of protests then slowly, inevitably, he fell backwards, landing with a loud thud.

There was a long, long silence. Gedymin felt a chilling numbness fill his fingers, the crossbow now sitting loosely in his grip. Then, all of a sudden, a heart-stopping shriek echoed from the next room. Through the doorway, now held open by the corpse of Eckleberg, a bedroom could be seen beyond, and in the four-poster bed contained therein, a woman clutched at the bedsheets that covered her, screeching in terror.

Before Gedymin could think, Ebbe and Son leapt into action. They dropped their sacks and bounded through the open door. Knives, ugly but sharp, gleamed in their hands. Gedymin gasped as he realised their intent.

"W-wait!"

The word fell on deaf ears as the two boys, full of adrenaline and fear, had let go of all reason. They leapt up on the bed and, with frenzied ferocity, set about the defenceless woman. She let out another squeal, this time a mixture of fear and pain, then fell silent.

Sickness filled Gedymin's throat as silence fell over the mansion once more. He shared a shocked glance with Kera, his friend seeming just as numb and fearful as he was. The two boys stepped back into the study, their hands bloody, knives still gripped in fists with white knuckles. A cold, empty look spread across both of their faces, as the realisation of what they had done stole across their minds. Son was the first to waken from the stupor, glancing down at the blade in his hand. His fingers snapped open, dropping the bloody weapon, before he sagged to his knees, belching up a mouthful of vomit. Beside him, Ebbe similarly returned to wakefulness, staggering to lean against the wall as he struggled to find his breath.

Kera was the first to break the silence.

"We need to get out of here." She struggled. "Someone might have heard all of that."

Gedymin nodded, even though he felt as if he were watching his own response from a dozen leagues away. Everything felt cold, numb. An icy hand had wrapped itself around his throat. He stood stock still for a long moment, before Kera's hand on his shoulder roused him and, with unsteady steps, he followed his friends out. In moments, the mansion was empty, save for the two rapidly cooling corpses.


	3. Chapter 3

The market square heaved with activity, the bustle of dozens of merchants, washerwomen, and beggars going about their day's activities. On a street corner, a priestess of Melitele squawked about sinners and redemption. One silk merchant squabbled loudly with a wine trader over a cracked barrel leaking over his stock, the confrontation drawing the gazes of many present. The mob always liked a show.

Gedymin skulked in the shadow of one of the city's taverns, skirting around the crowds carefully. He managed to avoid the prying eyes of the townsfolk, slipping into a narrow alley between the tavern and a warehouse. There, he found a small staircase descending down beneath ground level, a small wooden door set deep in the shadowed opening. He approached, knocking in a curious, irregular pattern, then waited. There was a scraping noise, followed by a small slot at eye level opening. Narrowed eyes peered out, looking the young lad up and down, then glancing behind him, before finally retreating, the slot slammed shut with a snap. The door swung open slowly, cautiously, and the figure beyond, a hunched old man with a hooked nose, gestured for Gedymin to enter. The door ground shut behind him.

Inside, the small subterranean room was dimly lit by a half dozen sputtering candles, their greasy black smoke filling the air with a choking aroma. Shelves lined the walls, filled with all kinds of trinkets and baubles, from fine porcelain plates to brass water jugs, heavy leather tomes to gold-rimmed looking glasses. In the centre of the room, a table was piled so high with ledgers and papers that it bowed in the middle, oaken planks groaning under the weight. A chest sat on one end of the table, locked firmly. A quill and inkwell sat in the only free space on the table, a lantern hanging from a hook overhead to cast a small pool of light over the workspace.

Gremnel was well known to the denizens of Oxenfurt's underbelly, said to have Dwarven blood in his veins, somewhere. The hunchbacked old man shuffled with an unsteady step, one leg longer than the other, tapping his cane, a simple ash staff with a brass topper shaped to resemble a laughing imp's visage, as he walked. Every step summoned a grunt of effort from the old man, who breathed heavily through open lips, framed by a scruffy grey beard and poorly-shaped moustache. His eyes squinted tightly as he peered through the gloom, ushering Gedymin closer to his table.

"What've you got for me?" He grumbled, his voice hoarse from decades of using the pipe. He coughed, clearing a gobbet of phlegm, which he swallowed. "Not another set of tin spoons, I hope. I have better ways to waste my time."

"I swear, I thought those were silver!" Gedymin protested.

"And now you know better." Gremnel huffed. "So I hope this isn't to be another disappointment?"

"No. This time, I can really deliver." Gedymin took the pouch from his belt, and cast it onto the table.

The aged fence opened the pouch, pouring its contents out into his palm. The gemstones glimmered in the dim light, stars in the sooty darkness. Gremnel whistles, holding up a violet-coloured stone to the lantern.

"Where in the hells did a street-rat like you find these?" He marvelled, inspecting another gem.

"That doesn't matter." Gedymin quickly dismissed. "How much can you give me for them?"

"Well, the market these days ain't what it used to be, son." Gremnel inspected a large, fat ruby, glistering between his thumb and forefinger like a juicy berry. "The Gnomes flood the market with their own stones, and-"

"Don't give me that shit." The youngster cut in sharply. "You could sell blooms to the Elves, so don't start telling me how hard it would be for you to move these on. Just tell me what they're worth."

"... Fine." Gremnel spared Gedymin a fiery sideways glance with his eyes, then returned to inspecting the stones. "They're all of pretty good clarity, finely cut... I reckon I could do fifty orens apiece."

"Are you kidding?" Gedymin scoffed. "I could get a better price from a Troll. Try again."

"You're a pain in my arse, Gedymin, but you've got good instincts." Gremnel sighed. "Fine. seventy-five apiece, and not a copper more."

"Deal." Gedymin nodded. "Now, what about this?"

He produced the golden medallion from his pocket, allowing it to swing on its chain. The ornately carved circle of gold dangled between the youngster and the fence, who drew in a long, sharp breath. He reached out to snatch the golden disc, turning it over in grubby fingers. He rubbed at the salmon embossed in its surface, silent for a long, long moment.

"This is a very high quality piece of work." He muttered under his breath. "The symbol will make it very easy for others to identify. Best thing to do would be to send it off to Novigrad, or even further, to sell, so it isn't seen by someone who might recognise it. otherwise, you could melt it down, but then it'll only have value for the raw gold. Either way, not gonna be easy to move on. I'll give you a hundred and fifty for it." He raised a hand, palm aimed at the young lad before he could open his mouth to protest. "And before you say anythin' smart, that's as good as I'll go."

Gedymin paused, considering pushing his luck, but then relented. The old man was right. Selling such a distinctive piece on would be a complicated matter. he silently nodded, at which Gremnel smirked.

"Good. Now, it'll take me a little time to get the coin fer all of this. Bring it all back after noon has passed, I should have it all by then." He handed the pouch and the medallion back, then waved the youngster off with a shooing gesture. "Off with you!"

~o~0~o~

The warehouse overlooking the dockside had been the victim of a recent fire, fortunately quenched before it could devastate the rest of the city. Even so, in spite of the best efforts of the owners, the building had been utterly gutted, little more than a skeleton of blackened timbers. A few walls offered shelter from the elements, and some patches of roof remained, but otherwise the warehouse was now useless to its owners, waiting to be torn down and rebuilt.

Gedymin and his friends had been quick to move into the blackened husk, happy to take advantage of the temporary refuge. A small pile of sacks in the most sheltered corner of the building provided a rudimentary place to sleep, while a barrel that had once held salted mackerel now collected rainwater for the youngsters to drink and wash themselves in. It was no luxury, but it was enough to survive, all that Gedymin and his crew could hope for.

The four children now lurked inside that burnt husk, sitting in silence. Ebbe and Son sat together, cross-legged on the floor, seeming to draw strength from one another. Ebbe, the youngest by just a few months, rocked unsteadily, arms wrapped tightly around his narrow chest. He stared at the scorched floor with dead, empty eyes. son tried to reach out and put a comforting arm around his shoulders, but the young boy flinched, recoiling from the touch.

Kera sat on the remains of an old crate, chewing at a fingernail nervously. Her hair was even more unkempt than usual, dark circles around her eyes from a lack of sleep.

Gedymin paced back and forth, unable to find any peace in sitting still. He would occasionally glance upwards, looking to the sunlight streaming down through the gaps in the roof. The sun had yet to reach its height, although it was drawing close. Frustrated at the slow passage of time, the young lad resumed his pacing. Silence hung in the air between the four, until at long last, right when Gedymin felt like he couldn't bear it anymore, Ebbe broke the silence. His voice trembled, as fragile as fractured glass.

"This is bad." He muttered. "This is very, very bad."

"Take it easy, Ebbe." Kera tried to soothe.

"How?!" Ebbe snapped back at her. "We killed two people, Kera! You can't just 'take it easy' after something like that."

"We'll get through it." The girl tried to reason. "Nobody saw us, there's nothing to lead the guard to us. we just need to lay low for a while, until it all blows over."

"That was one of Capricia's girls in his bed." Son muttered, staring ahead with empty eyes. "She's not likely to let that slide."

"We'll leave town." Kera answered. "Once we get the coin, we can get out of here, and head for Novigrad, or Vizima. Somewhere that nobody knows us, or the name Hans Eckleberg." She paused, turning to face Gedymin. "Isn't that right, Gedymin?"

The young lad opened his mouth to answer, but a noise caught his attention. The rustle of metal on metal, followed by some shouting. His stomach turned to ice as, with wary steps, he moved towards the door, peering out through the narrow gap the warped frame created.

Outside, a dozen men in armour could be seen, all wearing the vivid scarlet of the Redanian crown. One, Gedymin noted with a lurch, wore the ornate pauldrons and helmet of the captain of the guard. Beside him, Gremnel gestured to the building with gnarled hands.

"Shit!" Gedymin hissed. "It's the guard! That bastard Gremnel sold us out."

The other three leapt up, rushing to other parts of the warehouse to peer out through windows and doors. Son let out a dismayed whimper.

"They're here, too." He moaned. "We're surrounded!"

"This is bad. This is very bad." Ebbe, shaking, sagged to his knees, beginning to rock back and forth with tears dancing in his eyes. "It's the noose for us, for sure. I don't wanna hang!"

"We know you're in there!" The captain had turned from the old man, now facing the warehouse. Gedymin recognised his fat, piggish features. The young lad had run into Captain Belger a few times, usually right before spending a night or two experiencing the hospitality of his cells. Now, the portly, middle-aged man strut forward, tilting his head back to bellow at the crumbling warehouse.

"Come quietly. We have the place surrounded, and there's nowhere for you to go."

"What do we do?" Kera asked, stepping up next to Gedymin to look out at the gathered forces.

Gedymin chewed his lip, his mind racing. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, his shoulders sagged. He turned a sorrowful look to his friend. a lump gathered in his throat as he spoke.

"There's nothing we can do." He said apologetically. "They've got us. Our best hope is to hand ourselves in, and hope they go easy on us."

"Fat chance of that." Kera snorted. "Why would they do anything for a bunch of children like us?"

"There might be something I can do." Gedymin straightened, a firm gleam in his gaze. "I'll tell them that it was me who killed them. You were all just watching outside, and had no idea what was going on in there. Maybe they'll let you off the hook with a few nights in the cells."

"What?" Ebbe asked incredulously. "Gedymin- no! We're not about to let you take the fall for this."

"Do you have any other ideas?" Gedymin challenged. His three companions fell silent for a long moment. "That's what I thought. Come on. The longer we make them wait, the more pissed they will be."

With that, the young lad pushed the door open, stepping out into the daylight. All around, guardsmen flinched, reaching for their swords. A couple of blades slithered from their sheathes, while others waited with tense breaths, unsure what the youngster might do. Captain Belger stepped forward, a haughty expression crossing his features.

"Gedymin." He drawled, a satisfied tone filling his words. "I'm putting you and your little bunch of vagrants under arrest for the murder of Hans Eckleberg." A pair of shackles dangled from his hand. "On your knees!"

Obediently, Gedymin knelt in the dirt, keeping his hands out to either side in a gesture of non-aggression. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground before him.

"It was all my fault." Gedymin proclaimed loudly. "The others had nothing to do with it. They just-"

"Do I look like someone who gives a Nekker's shit?" Belger interrupted, stepping up close to him.

The captain grabbed first one wrist, then the other, roughly pulling them together and closing the shackles around them. Other guardsmen gave Kera, Ebbe and Son the same treatment. As the children knelt there, numb, speechless, the guards began to rifle through their pockets, turning out knives, coins and other things into the dirt. Gedymin's precious lockpicks were cast aside without ceremony, a jab of sadness and remorse tugging at the young lad's heart.

Then, with a triumphant snort, the captain produced the pouch of gems and the medallion from the youngster's coat, holding them aloft like some kind of trophy. He held onto the pouch, but passed the medallion to Gremnel, the elderly fence hobbling over to stand next to him.

"This is it?" Belger asked.

"Aye, that's the one. Sure as day." The old man confirmed hoarsely.

"You sold us out." Gedymin managed to lift his head to glare at the older man defiantly. "Why?"

"Why?" Gremnel, groaning as he moved, leaning heavily on his cane, lowered himself into a squat to bring himself level with the kneeling youth. "Can't an old man be concerned with fulfilling his civic duty?"

"Bullshit." Gedymin spat vehemently. "A crooked bastard like you doesn't care about 'civic duty'."

Gremnel smiled at the insult, taking it in stride. He lifted his hand, the medallion draped across his gnarled fingers. A thin, venomous smile crawled across his lips.

"You see this here?" He nodded to the golden disc, the salmon flashing in the light, almost seeming to dance on its own. "This medallion once belonged to my uncle. He was a wealthy man, until he passed, and all his fortune fell to me. I traded this medallion to Eckleberg, in exchange for a caravan of very expensive silks from Ofier." He looked back to the boy, eyes flashing with a dark fury. "Eckleberg brought a vast amount of money into this city, and was one of my best clients. Until you, you little shit, fucked everything up."

The old man reached out, cupping Gedymin's chin, lifting the boy's gaze to meet his own.

"I'd love to see you skinned alive for this, Gedymin." He hissed. "But I guess the gallows will have to do. Sleep well tonight, little street rat. It'll be the last night you and your friends ever see."

With that, Gremnel stood, turning to shuffle away as Captain Belger and his men dragged the children to their feet, hurriedly marching them away.

Gedymin remained silent, unfeeling, as he was frog-marched towards the wagon, staring at his feet, barely managing to put one in front of the other. Guilt, fear, anger, they all raced through his head as, with growing horror, he realised what fate now lay before him. Before his friends. Knowing what the next dawn would bring, dead filled him as the day all too quickly moved into night.


	4. Chapter 4

The crowd around the gallows watched the four children with quiet, angry glares. Gedymin recognised a few of the faces there, people he had run errands for, others that he had stolen from, and a few who had shown him and his friends kindness during his lowest moments. All now stared at them, judgement and condemnation in their eyes.

Their fate had been decided remarkably quickly, which was not at all surprising to Gedymin. Captain Belger had already decided he wanted to see the four children punished for their crime. Presumably, just like Gremnel, the captain had benefited in some way from Eckleberg's fortunes.

The loot from the robbery had quickly vanished, Gedymin noted. Squirreled away in the pockets of the captain, and presumably shared with Gremnel as thanks for his tip-off. Regardless, the loot was far beyond Gedymin's reach by now, not that it would matter in but a few moments.

The quartet, hands and feet still chained, were lined up before the makeshift gallows. They stood there, heads bowed in silence, as the captain of the guard glared down at them. Gedymin chanced another look at the mob that surrounded them.

A few faces stood out in the crowd. Berma, the old herbalist, her wrinkled face pursed in a grim scowl as she watched the four children. Thaniel, the cooper, arms folded as an impassive, calm look crossed his face. A whole medley of children, all watching eagerly, anticipating a show. The people loved a spectacle, that much Gedymin knew. After all, how many times had he thrilled in watching some bandit or murderer take the long drop, the snap of their neck echoing across the crowd with a sickening crunch?

At the back of the crowd, an elegantly decorated carriage waited silently, a train of four black horses hitched to it.. The velvet curtains that obscured the occupants twitched, and Gedymin saw the stern features of Ilge Eckleberg peer out. The sharp-faced older woman wore a black veil as a symbol of her mourning for her dead spouse, behind which her features were carefully painted, lips coloured red while kohl cast deep shadows around her eyes. At first, Gedymin was surprised to see the woman here, wondering why she might want to see justice for a husband that had died in another woman's arms. Then, her dark brown eyes glanced to him, flashing with such hatred and bile, and the young lad realised- this wasn't about Hans' infidelity. It wasn't even about his death. In killing the merchant and his whore, the children had inadvertently cast shame upon his name, his estate, and his wife. The fact that a man of his stature would buy the services of a painted woman was a given, but now Gedymin and his friends had made that a public spectacle, and humiliated the widow. She glared at him for a long, silent moment, the downward turn of her lips becoming a little more firm, then the velvet curtain was pulled across, hiding her from view.

The youngster looked back to the gallows, now taking in more details. The frame was solid, but clearly built in haste. Some of the logs still sported little branches and twigs, leaves clinging to them. Four simple nooses had been tied, swaying gently in the wind. With a little jolt of consternation, Gedymin noted that there was no trapdoor, only short, roughly cut logs for the children to stand on. The young lad felt a knot of worry twist in his guts. Such a set-up was not ideal for a quick death. Normally, the trapdoor would give them the long drop, and their necks would snap under the weight of their own bodies. The logs gave them less distance to fall, so it was more likely that the tightening noose would kill them, a slower, uglier way to die. Gedymin wondered if that was part of Captain Belger's intent, or just a side effect of laziness on the guardsman's part.

"People of Oxenfurt!" Belger's booming voice broke Gedymin out of his thoughts. The captain now looked to the crowd, raising his arms theatrically. "We are gathered here today to see justice served. The four criminals you see before you-" He waved his hands towards the children in an expansive gesture. "-have been found guilty of murder, killing our own Hans Eckleberg, a beloved pillar of this community."

The crowd hissed at the announcement, cries of derision and disgust echoing out. Gedymin couldn't say for sure if it was directed at the quartet, or at the dead man. He couldn't imagine many in the town considering the merchant a 'beloved' figure. Belger did not allow the hubbub to interrupt his flow.

"They crept into his home and killed him in cold blood. The next day, they tried to sell off his belongings, stolen before his body had even cooled, to our own people. These cravens must be punished!"

The crowd cheered, hungry for blood. Gedymin looked at them in horror, seeing some he had once called friends now clamouring for his death. Belger raised his arms, seeming to thrill in the power he now held over the mob.

"The laws of our nation are clear- by the authority granted to me by our King, Radovid the Great, I sentence these criminals to by hanged by the neck until dead!"

The crowd roared again, cheering the proclamation. The guards that flanked the children shoved them forward, towards the steps leading up to the gallows.

Panic seized Gedymin. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready. His wild eyes looked from side to side, but there was no escape. Two guards, easily twice his size, clung close to him, forcing him forward. With leaden feet, he climbed up the steps, following Kera.

The four children were lined up, one by one lifted bodily to stand on their chosen blocks of wood. Below, the crowd continued to growl and chant, calling for 'justice', but craving blood. Utterly numb, Gedymin stared hollowly down at the mob, their wild, inhuman eyes glaring back at him. The noose slipped over his head, resting loosely around his neck. He barely felt the coarse fibres scrape against his skin, barely felt anything save for the tremor that worked its way from his knees up his spine. Suddenly, Belger was in front of him, a cruel grin plastered across his features.

"Any last words, street rat?" He asked. "Oh, wait, I just remembered- nobody cares." He turned, nodding to one of his subordinates. "Do it."

The guard, on his commander's order, kicked at Son's block. The boy dropped as the log clattered away. there was a twang of tightening fibres, and a sudden gurgle. As Gedymin had predicted, the drop was too short, the boy's body too light to snap his neck cleanly. The child's eyes bulged as the rope closed around his throat, closing off his vital air passages and bloodways. He kicked at the air, his body spasming involuntarily.

Before Son had even stopped twitching, the guard moved to Ebbe's block. Tears flowed down the boy's cheeks as fear overwhelmed him. A strangled sob escaped his chest.

"Please." He stammered, his voice fracturing with agony. "Don't. I don't want to-"

The guard kicked the block, cutting him off as the noose closed his throat. The child's tongue bulged out from between his lips. He similarly squirmed, to no avail. The guard moved on, stopping before Kera.

The young girl looked at the guard, abject terror in her gaze, before her eyes turned to Gedymin. The pair shared a single, silent second of unspoken communication. Her lips quivering, Kera only managed half a word.

"Gedy-"

The rope snapped taught as the girl fell, her feet mere inches above the wooden planks of the gallows. A look of shock crossed her features as her breathing cut off. She gurgled, struggling for a breath that could not find her lungs. Gedymin was forced to watch as, like a rising sun, scarlet filled her cheeks and her eyes. Her lips swelled as her flesh turned red. Her eyes, unable to close, stared at Gedymin. She kicked the air a few times, more of a reflex than an actual attempt to escape.

Gedymin felt a wave of vomit surge in his throat, but couldn't find the strength to heave it up, instead transfixed by the sight of Kera, his oldest friend, the one he cared for most in the world, writhing in her death throes.

The crowd had noticeably gone silent at this point, even their bloodlust dulled at the sight of a young girl dying so gruesomely. Some in the front row even turned away from the sight, while others remained transfixed by the execution, unable to look elsewhere.

The guard moved towards Gedymin, but a gentle wave of the hand from Belger stopped him. The captain lifted his boot, placing it on the log at the young lad's feet. Gedymin spared one last look at Kera's swollen, crimson face, the last vestiges of life fleeing her eyes as he watched, then he turned to face the captain, eyes empty. Belger smirked as his leg flexed, ready to kick out.

"Goodbye, Gedymin." He taunted, then kicked.

The log tumbled away, and Gedymin felt a momentary weightlessness as he dropped. There was a twang, and a snap of tightening rope, then a sharp pain as the noose crushed closed around his neck.


	5. Chapter 5

The noose snapped shut around his neck, instantly closing his throat and crushing his main bloodways. The pressure was immense, the entire weight of his body transferred through the rope to a narrow band around his neck, the knot growing tighter as he squirmed against its grip.

Already he could feel the pressure building in his veins as blood with nowhere to go started to build up. His heart fluttered, straining against the irregular pressure. Lungs tried to expand, but found no airway to draw from. Pain filled his chest and his skull, even as waves of dizzying faintness washed through his skull. Stars wheeled in his vision, clouding over everything else as a loud roar filled his ears. Gedymin felt himself begin to die.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the pressure vanished. Gedymin dropped to the wooden boards with a painful thud, legs buckling underneath himself. The pressure around his neck eased as his neck muscles pushed against the now slack noose, finally allowing a current of icy cold but oh so sweet air to rush into his desperate lungs. His blood resumed its journey through his body, now a powerful rumble in his pounding eardrums. Still his vision wavered, eyes struggling to focus on anything. It took a few moments before the dizziness and pain subsided enough that the young lad could focus his eyes once more.

The crowd before him had turned around, now facing two figures that waited on the edge of the market square astride two horses. One, a smaller figure, little more than a child, sat astride a bay mare. Her slight figure was hidden under a gambeson several inches too large for her. Her sky blue eyes glared out from under gentle brows, while her hair was cut short, close to the scalp. Beside her, the much larger figure loomed, a man clad in heavy plate mail, the rings of tightly riveted chain hiding underneath. A black cloak swallowed up his form, hood casting his face into shadows. The mare he sat atop was grey, dappled with blotches of black like a storm-riddled sky. Fierce amber eyes burned in the shadows of his hood, glaring at the crowd with animal ferocity. A small crossbow sat in his gloved hand, its payload expended.

"Is it really the way of Redania to slaughter her own children like this?" The voice, almost a bestial growl, echoed out.

"You dare to interrupt our lawful trial and execution, Witcher?" Belger growled in response. Around him, a dozen guards reached for their sheathed blades. "This criminal has been justly tried, and must now face his sentence!"

Gedymin struggled to his knees, tugging at the noose still clinging tightly to his neck. He looked up to see the ragged end of the rope he had just a moment ago been dangling from. The hemp had been cut, as if with a knife. Behind it, embedded deeply in the wood of one of the gallows' support beams, was a crossbow bolt. From the angle, it was clear that the bolt was what had cut the rope, allowing Gedymin to drop free. He looked to the figure on the horse, identified by Belger as a Witcher. Such a shot would have required a level of accuracy Gedymin had never dreamed of. He looked at the figure with eyes regaining their strength, now able to see the flash of silver on his breast, a small wolf's head snarling defiantly at the world. The Witcher's eyes turned to the rising youth, then back to Belger.

"What crime has been committed to warrant the death of one so young?" He asked. "To call for the deaths of four children, all at once?"

"This boy," Belger gestured disdainfully. "Is a murderer and a thief. He will be made to face justice."

"The justice of the mob." The Witcher chuckled darkly. "A contradiction if ever I heard one."

"You dare judge us, mutant?" The crowd bristled at Belger's words, but none moved towards the Witcher, none dared even try.

"I dare, and more." The Witcher barked back, before sighing.

The newcomer spurred his horse forwards, the crowd parting before him. his smaller companion followed him closely. They drew near to the gallows, the Witcher turning a little. Gedymin could see, fastened to the back of his saddle, three enormous, bloody heads. Scolopendromorphs, or giant centipedes. Their fearsome mandibles gleamed evilly in the daylight, even as they hung there, harmless, while their thick, armoured shells shone with a dull sheen. Gedymin had heard of such creatures, even heard rumours of a few investing a nearby farmstead, but had never seen one in the flesh. He could now see that the stories were true, and the beasts were large and fearsome enough to bite a full-grown man's leg clean off. The fact that the Witcher now carried trophies from three of the beasts only added to the grim and dangerous air that emanated from him.

"I offer you an alternative." He raised his voice, so that all present could hear his words. "You seek vengeance for lives lost. I offer you a fair exchange. For taking a life, the boy shall give his own in service to the Guild of Witchers. He shall live out the rest of his days fighting and killing monsters and horrors to protect you, the people. Eventually, he shall die in the pursuit of this trade."

"You want us to spare him?" Belger asked, incredulous.

"I assure you, if you knew what this life entailed, many of you would understand that this is a far worse sentence than any noose or blade." The Witcher replied. He nodded back to the heads on his saddle. "I have cleansed the local farmsteads of the centipedes that plagued them, and saved your people from famine this year. Your mayor has seen fit to deny me payment. If a Witcher is not fairly paid for his services, then there shall be a curse upon your city, your people, and your livestock. You can give me the boy, or you can all face the Witcher's Curse."

Troubled murmurs spread out amongst the townsfolk, whispers of fear and anxiety. Gedymin tilted his head curiously. He'd heard many rumours about the fabled monster hunters, but this was the first he'd ever heard of a 'Witcher's Curse'. The crowd, meanwhile, seemed less sceptical.

"I heard that the village o' Boggevrieg ne'er paid their Witcher, and the tavern caught fire the next day!" One dock worker muttered fearfully.

"'Tis true that the mutants have curses in their blood." Another man, toothless in his old age, stammered. "We mustn't break our bargains with 'em!"

"Give him the child, or he's sure to take ours!" A woman, clutching her two boys to her frantically, called out.

"Aye, let us be rid of the mutant and the murderer both at once!" Another woman called from the throng.

Belger watched as, in just a few seconds, his crowd turned against him, a slow, low chant beginning to rise as they demanded that he hand over the child. Quickly, the chant threatened to turn into widespread panic, so the captain quickly raised his hands.

"Very well." He said the words reluctantly, eyes flashing at the Witcher. "If it means that we will be rid of your filth all the sooner, take the boy, and never bring him back here."

The Witcher nodded silently, unhitching the severed centipede heads from the back of his saddle and throwing them at the captain's feet, the bargain struck.

Gedymin was grabbed by two guards, hauled roughly to his feet. The lad was quickly led down the steps of the gallows, practically dragged forward by his chained hands. A rope was fastened around the links between his wrists, then tied to the Witcher's saddle.

The youngster looked up into those fiery yellow eyes, burning beneath the deep, dark hood. the eyes gazed back at him, unreadable in their intentions. The Witcher observed him for a long, silent moment, before turning, sitting up straight in the saddle, and giving his mare a quick nudge to the ribs. Before Gedymin could say anything, the horse began to walk, the rope attached to him going taut and forcing him to follow his new captor. Slowly, unavoidably, the two mounted figures led Gedymin from the gallows. Just before they left the square, the lad chanced a look back, catching one final glimpse of his dead friends hanging from the wooden frame, before the Witcher and his companion led him away, and the square vanished from his sight.

~o~0~o~

It had been some hours, and Gedymin's feet ached. While the pace of the two horses was not cruel, it was still fast enough to be draining for the young lad, a tiring challenge. He'd stumbled a couple of times, during which the Witcher had been gracious enough to pause and allow him to regain his footing, but then immediately the trek would resume.

The day was drawing to its end, orange light burning warmly on the horizon as chilling purples and blues swallowed up the small procession. Behind them, Oxenfurt was by now just a distant, dark smudge on the landscape.

Finally, as the last few rays of sunlight slid behind the horizon, Gedymin's patience had run out. He stopped in the middle of the road, the rope between him and the Witcher's horse growing tight. The horse kept going, almost yanking him off his feet before he staggered forward, letting out an irritable grunt.

"Alright, enough!" He huffed. "Who are you? Where are we going? What are you going to do to me?"

"I am a Witcher of Kaer Tiele." The Witcher reined his horse in, finally turning to face his newly acquired captive. "That is where we are going, to train you to become one of us."

"Why?" Gedymin persisted stubbornly. "You went through a lot of trouble back there, to make sure I survived."

"You think I was concerned with your survival?" There was a sneer in the Witcher's tone, even though Gedymin couldn't see his lips move beneath that dark hood.

"Sure seemed like it to me." Gedymin answered.

"Let me ask you something, child." The Witcher narrowed his glowing eyes. "When the mayor refused to pay me for my work, told me to fuck off back to Kaer Tiele with my blades dulled, my potions spent, my wounds still healing, all for the benefit of his city, what would have happened if I had meekly complied, if I had vanished without a coin to my name? What would the next Witcher to travel through Oxenfurt expect?"

"They- there would be no respect for them, and no one in the city would feel the need to honour their agreements with them."

"Aye. A Witcher who doesn't insist on being paid for his work soon becomes a very hungry Witcher. Our Guild would lose all respect, and our trade would mean nothing. I had a choice- find another form of payment, or make the city pay in blood. I chose the former path, and spared who knows how many lives."

"So... there's no such thing as a Witcher's Curse?"

"Damned if I know." The Witcher shrugged. "Maybe. Magic is a strange thing. But now, those whispers will travel far and wide, and people in these parts will think twice before reneging on a deal with our kind. Rumours will persist of the time the mayor tried to cheat us, and we took one of their criminals to become one of our own. Who knows, maybe if they try that shit again, we'll send the murderer back to the city."

"You put a lot of faith in hearsay and rumour." Gedymin observed.

"No, child. I put faith in how people are shaped and controlled by hearsay and rumour." The Witcher clarified. "If you can control what people are saying about you when they think you cannot hear, you would be amazed at what you can achieve."

The Witcher straightened in his saddle, gazing about with keen eyes. He looked to his other companion, the girl astride the other horse.

"Ruta, find us a place to make camp. We'll rest for the night, then continue at daybreak."

"Yes, Master." The girl, Ruta nodded obediently, then nudged her horse, clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she urged the mare forward. As she did so, the Witcher descended from his saddle, walking over to Gedymin.

It was only as he stood next to the Witcher that Gedymin realised just how tall he truly was. The monster hunter towered over the lad, close to seven feet in height. he knelt down, pulling a knife from his belt. Gedymin flinched, but then the Witcher cut through the rope fastening him to the saddle. He glanced at the iron shackles with a critical eye, sniffing derisively.

"Shitty Novigrad craftsmanship." He dismissed, before twisting one of the links of the chain with his bare hands. The worked iron squeaked, then snapped under his fierce grip, freeing Gedymin's hands. With this, he stood. "We'll get those manacles off you back at the keep, but for now at least you can move about freely."

"Thank you." Gedymin rubbed at his wrists.

"Don't try to run off in the night." The Witcher cautioned. "I can see in the dark far better than you can, and I have yet to lose any quarry I have chosen to hunt down. I will find you and break your skull if you try to run."

Gedymin nodded silently, while the Witcher watched him silently. Then, with a shrug, the monster hunter turned.

"I'll get some wood for a fire. Its going to be a cold night."

"Wait-" Gedymin halted as the Witcher wheeled to look at him, luminous eyes transfixing him. "I don't know your name."

"Its Raven." The Witcher replied. "But, until you are trained, you will refer to me as 'Master', are we clear?"

Gedymin nodded, mind racing as he processed the day's events. A spark ignited inside him, something he hadn't felt in some time. Purpose. A new life lay before him, one of meaning. Excitement started to kindle in his heart as he looked to his new mentor.

"Yes, Master."


End file.
